“‘Can Winter beat Swift?’ says Shay.  ‘I’d like to know,’ says Hogan.  ‘I don’t know who to vote f’r,’ he says; ‘an’ Mike is in th’ wather office,’ he says. ’’Tis a cinch Hinky ‘ll win out in th’ First,’ says Mullaney.  ‘He have a sthrong man again him,’ says Hogan.  ’Gleason have wan or two lodgin’-houses.’  ‘Three,’ says Shay; ’but Hinkey knows all th’ lodgers,’ he says. ‘’Twas a mane thing th’ main guy done with Callaghan,’ says Hogan.  ‘What’s that?’ says Shay.  ‘Thrun him off th’ bridge,’ says Hogan, ‘because he come fr’m Kerry,’ he says.  ’I don’t believe wan wurrud iv it,’ says Mullaney.  ’They’re more Kerry men on bridges thin anny other counties,’ he says.  ‘What has bet Hopkins,’ he says, ‘is his frindship fr’m th’ Mayo men,’ he says.  ‘Th’ Mayo men is great f’r carryin’ prim’ries, afther they’re over,’ he says.  ’But did anny wan iver hear iv thim doin’ anny good whin th’ votes was bein’ cast?’ ‘I knowed wan that did,’ says Cassidy, as black as ye’er boot.  ‘His name was Cassidy,’ he says; ‘an’ he done some good,’ he says, ’be privintin’ a man be th’ name iv Mullaney,’ he says, ‘fr’m bein’ a dilligate.’  ‘Ye had th’ polis with ye,’ says Mullaney.  ’Ye was supported be th’ fire departmint,’ says Cassidy.

“‘Let’s change th’ subject,’ says Duggan, ’What show has Dorsey got in th’ Twinty-ninth?  ‘None at all,’ says wan iv th’ O’Neills who ’d come over.  ‘He have th’ Civic Featheration again him.’  ‘Who cares f’r th’ Civic Featheration?’ says Mulcahey.  ‘They don’t vote,’ he says.  ’What ‘ll kill Dorsey,’ he says, ‘is his bein’ an Apee-a.’  ’He’s no Apee-a,’ says Mike O’Neill.  ‘I wint to th’ Brothers’ school with him,’ he says.  ’Whiniver a man comes up that can’t be downed anny way, he’s called an Apee-a,’ he says.  ‘He’s no more an Apee-a thin ye are,’ he says.  ‘D’ye mean to call me that?’ says Mulcahey.  ‘Come out, an’ have a dhrink,’ I says; an’ we wint down.

“Well, Jawn, we had wan iv th’ liveliest political argumints ye iver see without so much as a blow bein’ sthruck.  Evenly matched, d’ye mind, with a chair f’r ivry man.  An’ th’ bar-tinder was a frind iv mine.  I knowed him whin he was with Schwartzmeister.  A good la-ad,—­a good lad.”

“But what about th’ opera?” asked Mr. McKenna.

“Th’ op’ra wus gr-reat,” said Mr. Dooley; “but I think Mulcahey was right.  Dorsey can’t win.”

THE CHURCH FAIR.

“Wanst I knew a man,” said Mr. Dooley, laying down his newspaper, “be th’ name iv Burke, that come fr’m somewhere around Derry, though he was no Presbyteryan.  He was iv th’ right sort.  Well, he was feelin’ how-come-ye-so, an’ he dhrifted over to where we was holdin’ a fair.  They was a band outside, an’ he thought it was a grand openin’.  So he come in with a cigar in th’ side iv his mouth an’ his hat hangin’ onto his ear.  It was th’ last night iv th’ fair, an’ ivrything was wide open; f’r th’ priest had gone home, an’ we wanted f’r to break th’ record.